Impossible [draft]

I'm sorry, dear, but it's impossible. I can't pretend we're friends when my entire being is aching to hold you and tell you I love you every time we meet. Sooner or later, we will have to make a decision. It's either things change and we take things to a new level, or we end this tense relationship.

You're still the most wonderful person in the world to me, so patient, kind and always loving in your own special way. But I love you in a different way. You distance yourself and keep telling me we can't be together. I don't see why not. But there's really nothing I can do.

You know I need you as my friend and helper, as you've helped me over everything. But I think it's time for me to face the fact that I grow wearier when I think of far you are from me. I cannot live with this kind of estrangement. I try to forget you, I really do, but it doesn't work that way. I want you as my partner but if that's impossible, then I need to stop seeing you because this one-sided dependence is too confusing to handle with everything else.

At the same time, I know you're so important to me as a friend as well, or confidante, or any other name that says you've always helped me back on my feet. I know it gets tiring after some time, I know because everyone else - myself included - can't bear to listen to another breakdown or long-strung days of emptiness and pain. I always tell you everything, but I don't know where I stand with you. Just friends , after all I've told you? After all you've done for me? It's unfathomable. If I'm on par with everyone else after all this, then I'd be deeply hurt because it feels like my arduous journey is unappreciated by the one person that's seen it most. If I'm special in some way because of all this, then tell me. Is it so hard? I feel that you love me when you say nice things to make the pain disappear, yet the barricade you place - it feels like disdain.

It's about changing myself for the better, if some feelings should be buried where they'll be lighter on both of us. Please tell me, soon, where I really stand, and what sort of friend I am in your heart. 

Affectionately Yours,

BL

Fear

She made me think of happy things, good grades, the esteem of my classmates, the praise of teachers written in red at the bottom of my essays. Then those brilliant streaks turned into painful moemories of failed papers, condemnation usurping the throne of praise, inexorable alienation from the friends I was no longer in school with. The End of my old life, self-bereavement.

I sent 4 messages to ms cricket.

23-Apr-2010  4:12 PM

"I know you're kinda busy but wud u mind msging a little while? It's always nice to talk to you." [help me]

"I jus concluded a very traumatic session with my psychologist. She induced a panic attack. The memories, the terror, the coldness, the shivering - everything. I know it, her words were calibrated to illicit those responses. And she kept talking when it worked. Torturous. I cringed, I couldn't breathe. All I could think of was you. I wanted to call you again. I wished you would be outside to tell me it's ok. I never felt better to talking to anyone else other than you. You are t[h]e angel, and my psychologist is the devil that has just sent me to hell and back..." [help me]

23-Apr-2010  4:30 PM

"It never occurred to me that someone else could exercise this kind of power over me like a nefarious puppet master. It was frightening. I almost wanted to strike her to make her stop. But I didn't. Because I could be stronger than that. Because you've shown me that I can be. The trembling... terror... I can't describe the sheer intensity.." [help me]

"I won't be proud with you, we're past that. When you read this, please help me... [end of msg]" [I need you]

Outgoing Calls - 4:57 PM  Cancelled [10 rings, no response]

Incoming Calls - 5.14 PM  52 minutes [we talked]

I felt so much better after talking to her, telling her what a hell it was. Sheer terror. I can't think of a better description. Cowered, quivering in fear, weeping, hiding my face between my arms and hands grasping at my hair. And hair actually did come out, strands littered the clinic table. I mourned as if someone had died, I mourned as if it was me who died. The old me, audacious and brimming with unfettered flames, the stallion that chased the four winds. But I was afraid of her, the psychologist. I've never been this afraid of anyone. This power she has over me feels insidious despite its therapeutic aims. I don't know who I am now, but I do know that the shattered pieces need to be put back together. That takes time, and that takes someone special.

But at least ms cricket is here for me, as she always is, as I've no doubt she always will be. I can always count on her. After I felt a little better, I flirted with her. She said she didn't know how to flirt, but I soon awakened that instinct with her. The game was afoot - and I told her to eagerly anticipate my email on Sunday evening. That's when I'll have the telescope and we can go star-gazing at some remote reservoir, in addition to a supper picnic at the said place. I've told her before that she is central to my recovery and she diverted the conversation by saying how 'central' reminded her of cellular nuclei. That's not too far from the truth. SHe is slowly becoming my raison d'être, if she isn't already. I hope she wants me too, I hope she needs me in that special way.

Precious dear, you are the world to me.

Contingency Will

Just in case I ever get knocked down while cycling or end up dead by any other cause, I'd like you - the reader - to deliver something for me.


On my MacBook White, there is a folder with the name "Writings" highlighted in yellow. Inside, there is a folder named "File X" that is locked. I need you to print, sort and deliver its contents to an addressee listed inside that folder.

To unlock the folder, right click on it and select "Get Info". Once the information window pops up, scroll to the bottom and you'll see a padlock symbol on the bottom-right corner. Click it and you'll be prompted for a username and password, which is as follows:

Username: [My English name] [Surname] [Anglicized Chinese name]
Password: 9June2007


As for my personal blog, currently privy to a selected and cherished few, could you help me make it public? The username is my Gmail address and the password is "3May2007". Perhaps someone can make better sense of the posts than I can and find out who I really was.

I know it's vain and futile to open up when there's nothing left to read, but its magic may - I hope - inspire the anonymous by-passer to live his /her life to the fullest in their own, special way.

Incurable Insomniac

Another fucking sleepless night. And when I wake up, nothing ever goes right. The computer is too slow, I have to skip my cycling because my body hurts too much, the mind is too fucking hazy to do anything.

Fuck it. FUck it all. Why does this have to keep happening to me!? Why the fuck can't I just move on!?

Mid-Lifer

Mid-life crisis. You feel that your youth is gone. You feel like your dreams have been lost. You feel dissatisfied with life and its lack of purpose, meaning, joy. You feel this halfway through your life. Well, I feel it now, and life hasn't even begun.

I don't want to go to university with this shadow in my heart. It feels... heavy. I keep on asking what I'm still doing here, now. Wasn't life supposed to be wonderful after my exams? Wasn't life supposed to be brighter after those two horrid years? Wasn't cycling supposed to change all this?

Cycling... it's becoming more and more depressing. I've almost lost the will to wake up every morning before dawn just to head out there and train. My speed has dropped too. I'm just so tired of cycling alone. The club is ridiculous - no one really rides regularly. The relationships I've tried to build all flounder because the same bunch doesn't show up anymore. Sure, the praise of some members shocked by my progress was fun and all, but they're all so... old. No young people to talk to. So old, as old as... I am.

I've stopped Karate - I can't move the same way. The younger guys with fewer problems have taken the show. I'm still physically strong, just not fast enough. The agility is gone. I'm so tired of living through all this, finding something to do every day and coming up with nothing. I'm so tired of being alone, just so tired of all this. No hopes, no dreams, nothing to look forward to. There's just no beauty in life, no inspiration, nothing. I almost feel like going back to drinking.

I wonder why I'm still like this, then I realise it's because I can't meet like-minded youngsters. Intellectually, Im alone. In sports, my friends have different interests. My soul is drying up fast and my heart is withering. That's just it - I'm withering. And I haven't even blossomed.

False Serenity

I've gotten used to the isolation. I've become comfortable - no, maybe accustomed - to shallow, fleeting relationships with people. I've found ways to live alone.

Or so I thought earlier today. My mood has steadily declined over the past few days and every waking hour has been spent perusing bicycle websites and reviews. I wish I was healthy again, continue riding 250 Km a week, sometimes with the club, sometimes on my own.

It seems that it is never a case of being independent but rather becoming dependent on different things. When you don't have enough of what you love, every little thing gains an exaggerated importance. The smallest inconvenience that might have been trivial before now transforms into a magnified thorn in one's sight.

When will this all end? All the fears and anxieties kept at the back of my head. Of status, of performance, the want of love and respect, the want to love, the want of solidarity.

When?

Dependence

I've blown 4 inner tubes in 5 days in the exact same way.
There's no cycling now, and I'll probably have to forfeit Sunday's ITT race.
It feels depressing.
I've never realized how much I depend on cycling to start each new day the right way.